The new order dump
Funny how a name change can be such a positive thing. This morning, another load of surplus cardboard took that final, long ride. To be dumped. But, for the record, not at “the dump”.
In the old days (context provision: the middle of the last century), there was a special piece of barren ground. Fires burned, even in mid-winter. The gulls wheeled and hopped, ever ready for a missed morsel (obviously, not cardboard). Cars came and went, slowly, in reverse, with the trunk cover open and the windows tightly closed against an unforgettable odour. This was the way we dealt with just about everything that had lost value.
Obviously, the amount of barren ground dwindled with time. Bulldozers compacted until, finally, the powers of law said “No more!”
Now, we sort and sample and consider alternatives to the discard mentality. But, there’s an exception for every rule. My load of flattened boxes required an exceptional effort. And so, I headed down the highway to the modern compromise: the Waste Watch Drop-off Center. A long title that covers a multitude of consumer sins.
A vehicle scale. Large. The better to measure your quantity of sin and present the bill (except on Saturday morning, when absolution is free). Multiple metal containers, where you leave what you must, properly sorted. And over in the back corner, a pile of everything else. Look! A perfectly good bike! You see, we still need a dump.
The fire and flying scavengers are gone (I think), but man needs to lay waste… somewhere. It’s our most human characteristic.
